by Robyn DeHart
Clarissa met his gaze, anger burned in his amber eyes. “No, I was going to say that no one would believe that a man such as yourself would be interested in a woman the likes of me.”
Vivian stepped forward. “Perhaps a discussion meant for later.” She smiled warmly. “Let us all sit and we can have tea and decide how to proceed. Because regardless of what actually happened tonight, Clarissa, your reputation is now damaged beyond anything I can repair. Especially in light of my own actions as of late.”
Most people had accepted Vivian even after her public admission of being a fallen woman, but there were still others who had not been so forgiving. Marcus called for a tea tray and added brandy to the list for himself and Justin.
“I am willing to marry her,” Justin said again. “But I will not beg you,” he said to Clarissa.
“I was a fool. Just as you told me I’d be and just as Ella warned me. I didn’t listen to any of you. George is not at all the man I thought he was.” So now she was brought to the reality that she had a difficult choice. She could resign herself to living in the country or she could marry Justin, a man she knew had no real interest in marrying anyone in society. A man who desired her, but didn’t love her. A man who was far more honorable than she’d ever given him credit for. Funny, she had resigned herself to marry George knowing he didn’t really love or want her, believing he would follow through merely to satisfy his honor. That she had been prepared to do; however, it was a good deal less palatable now that the man who didn’t love her was Justin.
Some women could bounce back from these situations. They might live a bit on the edge of Society, but they became mistresses, well cared for ladies who picked lovers based on the sorts of gifts they could receive. But she could never be one of those ladies. She simply wasn’t sophisticated enough for that. So she could decide right now to be a spinster or to be Mrs. Rodale, the wife of the bastard son of the Duke of Chanceworth. She hated even thinking that way. She didn’t consider Justin’s birthright. He certainly proved to be nobler and more gentlemanly than George ever had.
“Clarissa, this is your decision. Whatever you decide,” Vivian said.
They weren’t going to make her marry him. She looked over at Justin. She could have done much worse for herself, and at least she knew one thing—she would never think of the duties in the marriage bed as tasks to be endured because she desired Justin with every fiber of her being.
“Yes, I will marry you.”
…
The following morning, Vivian pulled Clarissa aside as she came down the stairs.
“Your brother is still asleep, but I should like to have a conversation with you,” Vivian said.
“Thank you,” Clarissa said.
“Let’s sit in the front parlor.” Vivian grabbed Clarissa’s arm.
In such a short amount of time Vivian had become like a sister to her. She hugged her tightly. She missed Rebecca and her guidance. More than likely had she still been living Clarissa would never have gotten herself into such a mess. Perhaps if she had counseled with Vivian, she would have listened.
They walked into the parlor and Vivian sat on the settee. “I suspected you might want to talk a little. About what happened.”
Clarissa sat. “I’m not certain there’s anything to discuss. I made a poor choice and now must live with the consequences. A series of poor choices, actually.”
“Can I ask you a question?”
Clarissa nodded. “I don’t suppose I have anything to hide anymore.”
“Do you love George?”
“No, I don’t. I thought I did at one time, but I think I was trying to convince myself that I loved it.”
“Then why so determined to marry him?”
Clarissa recounted the story about Rebecca.
Vivian nodded and gave Clarissa a warm smile. “So you believed your own judgment not good enough?”
“It never was.” Clarissa shook her head. She told Vivian about Christopher, a story she knew Vivian would understand more than anyone else. “So you see, my own judgment has always gotten me in trouble.” She released a short laugh. “I suppose that is precisely what happened here too.”
Vivian patted Clarissa on the knee. “You were trying to do what you thought was best. It would seem that George pretended to be a good man whereas Justin is a good man. There is a difference.”
Justin was a good man, an honorable man. Why had it taken her so long to see that herself? Well, she knew it now, would be reminded it of it every day. She’d be his wife. A wife he never loved. She took a deep breath. “Then I suppose it is for the best that Justin and I are to be married.”
“He will make you happy in a way George never could,” Vivian said.
Clarissa knew that that was the utter truth. Yet at the same time Justin could do something to her that George never could—break her heart. But there was nothing to be done about that now.
“Thank you for talking to me,” Vivian said.
For so long she’d been certain she would have made George a good wife. Obviously, the bond between them hadn’t been enough to change him. It hadn’t been enough to change her, not in the way that her relationship with Justin had changed her. No, George Wilbanks would never be her husband.
Instead, she would be Mrs. Justin Rodale.
…
One day later she was a married woman.
She and her new husband stood on the sidewalk waiting for their carriage. The few friends and family members who had attended the brief ceremony had already departed. Clarissa hadn’t wanted a party. At least not yet. She didn’t deserve one.
The weight of the ring on her finger felt foreign. She looked down at the band encircling her finger. It was beautiful with the filigree details and the fiery opal stone at the center.
“Do you like it?” Justin asked.
Clarissa looked up at him, slightly embarrassed he’d caught her staring at the bauble. “I do. Very much.”
“The stone reminded me of you, polished and shiny on the outside.” He took her hand and held it up to the light, turning her hand slightly. The opal blazed from within. “See that, that is how I see you. That fire inside.” He released her hand. The carriage pulled up alongside them and stopped. It was, by far, the finest coach she’d ever seen.
Justin helped her inside, then took a seat, not across from her, but next to her. Her husband. He would be by her side for the rest of her life now.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“I want to show you something.”
They rode along in silence for a while until the rig stopped and Justin once again assisted her down. She looked around and noted the street looked much different in the daylight than it had that fateful night she’d come here alone. Unlike the worn sign at Rafferty’s, Rodale’s sign was freshly painted and tasteful.
Justin took her hand. “Come,” he said.
“Inside?” she asked.
He nodded. “This belongs to you now too.”
She hadn’t expected that. She allowed him to pull her up the stairs and then opened the door and she stepped across the threshold. It was not overly busy because of the time of day, but there were more people here than she had expected. The same man she’d spoken to that first night approached them. Instead of the grizzled frown she’d been greeted with that night, he wore a broad smile.
“Mrs. Rodale,” he said and then grabbed her into a fierce embrace. “Welcome to Rodale’s.”
“Thank you,” she said. She couldn’t help but smile at the unexpected warmth of the man she’d thought to be an ogre.
“Clipps, this is Clarissa. Chrissy, Basil Clipps. He essentially runs this place,” Justin said.
“Mr. Clipps,” she said with a nod.
“Nah, you call me Basil. My wife will be wanting to meet you soon.”
“We can arrange a dinner,” Justin said. “I’m going to show her around. Anything of note today?”
Clipps shook his head. “The young man was
back again last night. Your brother is becoming more and more insistent that we let him play the boy.”
“I’ll see to it,” Justin said. He took her hand again and led her forward.
The room was large and divided up into sections, she supposed based on the type of game played there. Heavy wood tables made of the finest mahogany were placed around, and surrounded by matching ornate chairs. Lush red draperies hung from the windows blocking out the sun, but the room was well-lit. There were a few doors off the main room and then a staircase that led upward.
“That door over there,” Justin said pointing to their right, “leads to the kitchen and there is a dining room there. We serve food whenever people want to eat. I hired the cook from Lord Abernathy’s estate.”
They made their way to the stairs and climbed to the top. Once inside, she saw the windows that overlooked the playing floor. “You can watch from up here,” she said.
“Indeed. We don’t catch cheaters very often, but it happens. And I like to stay informed.”
The office had plush furnishings, all the finest materials, like she would find in any wealthy family’s home. “It’s all very lovely.”
“I wanted you to see it,” he said.
“Why?”
“Partly so you could see what I have built. And partly because you are my wife, this business is yours as well.”
She shook her head in confusion. “Am I not simply to manage your household?”
“You are welcomed to do that, but I might want your input for other things. Remember I know about Mr. Bembridge and his talents. He has not salvaged the finances of two families in London. He’s developing quite the reputation. There are men twice your age who would not have made such sound decisions. You have a unique mind for business, Clarissa. This is our business.”
She looked around at everything. The wife of a gaming hell owner. Or as Justin declared, part owner of a gaming hell. This was certainly not the life she’d imagined. For the first time in her adult life, she was thankful Rebecca and Charles and her parents were dead. They would be appalled at what her life had become.
A handful of weeks ago, it had been a scandal for her to stand on the sidewalk outside of this establishment and now she was inside, shared a name with it. So much had happened, she barely recognized herself. And, yet, those familiar feelings of excitement welled up inside her. Her entire life she’d had to fight her own nature to fit into the mold of the perfect society lady.
At least now she didn’t have to. No one would be watching her anymore. She could relax and simply be Clarissa, the wife of the gaming hell owner.
“I took the liberty of responding to your invitation to the Potterfield ball tomorrow night,” Justin said.
She nodded. “It will take some adjustment, I suppose, not attending such events, but I shall get used to it.”
Justin shook his head. “Chrissy, what are you talking about? Marrying me does not mean you can no longer attend parties. I didn’t bring you here as a way of telling you this would be your new evening pastime. You are my wife, I shall attend whatever party you wish to go to and Mr. Clipps will manage things here until I arrive.”
“You wish to take me to balls and soirees and the like?”
“I don’t want you to change your life because you’ve become my wife. You do still wish to be part of Society, do you not?”
She looked up at him, but said nothing for a moment. “Why would you want to do that?”
“Do you not want me to? I was under the impression that you enjoyed such functions,” he said.
“Of course, I’m merely confused as to why you would want to join me. Many of those people have been nothing but rude to you,” she said. Were it her, she probably would be glad to never see those people again.
“Are you ashamed of me?”
She swallowed the lump in her throat. “No, of course not. I merely meant that—” She waved her hand dismissively. “It is of no consequence what I meant. Of course we will attend parties together. I am your wife.” But this meant that she was not done trying to be the perfect lady, and to make matters worse, now she would have to do so for the both of them, which would not be easy. She’d heard people say wretched things about him before, but as his wife, she’d be damned if she’d allow that kind of talk.
Chapter Thirteen
Clarissa stood in the room that was now her bedchamber. Justin’s townhome was not much different than her family’s, but this was the adjoining room to the master bedchamber. This was where the lady of the house slept, where the wife slept.
She was the wife. The weight of everything that had occurred in the last few days hadn’t yet settled on her. Or at least she hadn’t yet been able to work through everything as of yet.
After her tour of Rodale’s, they’d come home, and had a delicious dinner in a small private dining room. After that he’d asked her to play for him again, but this time he’d kept his distance, preferring to listen to her from a chair. Admittedly, the playing had relaxed her some, but she did have to wonder if now that they were married, his desire for her had somehow waned.
The door opened and she jolted. But it was not Justin, instead a maid.
“Pardon me, my lady, my name is Mary and if you’ll follow me, Mr. Rodale thought you might enjoy the adjoining room better,” she said with a slight curtsey.
Clarissa nodded and followed the girl. It was odd that Justin would send for her to come to his bed, rather than simply come get her himself, but she was unsure of how these things should work. But instead of leading her into another bedchamber, the maid had brought her into a bathing chamber. It was a small room, covered in wood paneling and there in against the wall sat a large white tub with metal claw feet.
“I took the liberty of filling it with warm water for you.” She pointed to a small table next to the tub. “There is a tray there with scented soaps and hair rinses. Whatever you should need. There is also a bell if you find you require some assistance.”
Clarissa took everything in. Her family’s townhome in London was very nice, and Ashford estate in the country equally so, but she had never seen a bathing chamber before. “Thank you,” she said.
“May I assist you out of your clothes?” Mary asked.
“Yes, please. A bath sounds quite lovely right now.” It would seem that Justin had thought of everything. She looked around the room whilst the maid worked on her buttons. There was another door on the opposite side of the small room. “Where does that door lead?” she asked.
“To Master Rodale’s chamber.”
So this is what separated their rooms. A shared bathing chamber. Was that common among married couples? She did not know since most houses were not yet equipped with such rooms. After Mary had unpinned her hair, Clarissa swept it to the side and put it in one long braid.
Once she was undressed, the maid held her hand and helped her into the deep tub. Warm water lapped at her as she settled inside its wet cocoon. Tension melted off her. She tilted her head back against the metal edge of the tub and closed her eyes. After the door had closed, she took a peek at the various bottles on the tray. Rose water, lavender oil, lemon soap, whatever she could have wanted right at her fingertips. She took some of the lavender oil and poured a few drops into the water. The sweet perfume wafted over her, relaxing her further. Again she settled into the water.
She wasn’t certain how long she lay there. A door opened and she looked up expecting to find Mary there to assist her out, instead Justin stood over her. His amber eyes took in the length of her. Though submerged in water, he no doubt could see her every curve.
She resisted the urge to cover herself. He was her husband and therefore had every right to look upon her body. “This is lovely,” she forced herself to say. It was not untrue. The room was a pleasant surprise.
He smiled. “More lovely than I could have imagined.”
Heat flooded her cheeks.
He came to stand beside her, picked up her braided hair. “May I?”<
br />
“Of course.”
He methodically unbraided her hair. She sat up so that her shoulders and breasts were above the water. He retrieved the pitcher. “Tilt your head back,” he said. Then he poured the warm water over her head.
Chills started in her scalp and ran down her body raising the tiny hairs along her arms and tightening her nipples. He massaged soap into her hair, his fingers working up a lather. She closed her eyes and reveled in the sensations. He’d obviously chosen the lemon soap as the citrus smell soon surrounded her. And then he was once again pouring warm water over her hair to rinse out the soap. Her scalp still tingled from his ministrations. She wrung out the water from her hair and re-braided it so it hung in a long damp chain.
“Are you ready to get out?” he asked.
“Yes, the water is getting a little cold now.”
He opened a cupboard and pulled out a blanket, then went back over to her and wrapped her in it as she climbed out of the tub. The blanket cocooned her in warmth.
“Come,” he said, and he held a hand out to her.
…
He pulled her into his bedchamber. His mouth met hers in a hungry kiss and he forgot all about the situation of their marriage. They might have married out of necessity, but that didn’t change his desire for her. And now she was his. Only his.
Her tongue slid against his and his erection pressed painfully against his trousers. God, how he wanted this woman. They kissed for several moments. He reached between them and pulled the blanket off her. It slid to the floor. He tilted her chin up so he could see her face. He grabbed hold of her shoulders. His hands ran up and down her arms. “You want me, Chrissy, don’t you?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
He took a shuddering breath. She’d alleviated most of his concerns in that one answer. He supposed there would always be part of him that wondered if she’d wished George had been the one to marry her. Justin knew he didn’t deserve Clarissa Kincaid, but damned if he didn’t long for her to want him.
He took a step back to see her, admire her body. Everything he’d seen in the bathtub had been through water. Right now, in this moment, it was pure Chrissy and he wanted to take his time and memorize every curve of her body.
